Photo Essay: Lighting the World, One Window at a Time

It was Sunday, and I just had to go to church.



Not my church, of course—and not even a church of the particular type of religion I was raised with.



And it wasn't just any church, either. In fact, I wasn't really even there for the church itself.

I was there for the stained glass windows by artist Roger Darricarrere...



...and as soon as I saw his signature on the reverse side of the giant art glass panel that faced the parking lot, I knew I was in the right place.



St. Stephen's Lutheran Church in Granada Hills—the "North Valley" region of the greater LA metropolitan area—is home to a giant stained glass window by Darricarrere, measuring 42 feet wide by 10.5 feet high.



It was first installed here in 1966, after having been shipped in pieces from New York—where it had been on display in Flushing Meadows-Corona Park for the 1964/65 World's Fair.



Subsequently, Darricarrere also contributed additional "wedge"-shaped windows on each side of the sanctuary. They don't look like much from the outside, so you've got to go inside to really see them.



But because it was Sunday, I wasn't alone there. Despite it being late afternoon, members of the congregation were still spilling out and lingering around the sanctuary.



The main attraction here at St. Stephen's is the "Christ, Light of the World" window, which tells the story of (from left to right) Creation, the Fall of Man, the Nativity, the Resurrection, and Revelations in an abstract design using over 14,000 pieces of glass and (literally) a ton of lead.



The monumental window was originally made to be installed in the Protestant and Orthodox Center's reception area at the World's Fair. Already world famous, Darricarrere had won a contest sponsored by the Stained Glass Association of America—and, luckily for him, he was friends with an architect who secured him a sponsor. Robert Inslee of Orr, Strange, Inslee & Senefeld convinced the building committee of St. Stephen's to fund the project in exchange for ownership of the window once the World's Fair was over.



Darricarrere studied the Bible for six months in preparation, and took a full year to make the window. His sketches of it—and accompanying explanation—were used in World's Fair promotional materials and are still being used in the church's pamphlets and website.



Otherwise, it would be pretty hard for the average person to know what they're looking at—from the first signs of light in orange and yellow on the left, the sun, moon, and stars rising above it...



...to the serpent in the garden of Eden and the birth of baby Jesus, the symbolism isn't exactly obvious.



Then again, it's not supposed to be.



Unlike many other examples of dalle-de-verre stained glass, the "chunks" here are used as accents—to represent wheat, the stars, water, and other elements of New Testament ministry...



...alongside more traditional, flat and smooth pieces of colored glass.



To the farthest right, the fire and brimstone give way to Jesus rising from the dead and ascending into Heaven, the arrival of the Holy Spirit...



...and, in the top right corner, the Second Coming (which appears to be surrounded by angel wings).



Both the window itself and Lutheranism in general are all about bringing in the light—and dispelling the darkness.



So, while at certain times of day, the "Christ, Light of the World" window casts colorful beams from the back of the sanctuary to as far as the altar on the opposite side...



...the church partnered with Darricarrere again to create the windows on each side of the sanctuary...



...this time creating colorful mosaics made entirely out of glass slabs (the "dalles").



It's a comforting light—softening the severity of the sun outside and the heavens above. It's no wonder that people didn't want to leave.

And they let me stay, too. When I walked in, a greeter said, "God bless you"—and then no one uttered another word to me the whole time. They just let me wander up and down stairs, angling my camera way up high and way down low until I'd gotten all the shots I needed.

We each have our own light—and we each can lighten or darken the world in our own, unique way. My light is vibrant and colorful, but a little rough around the edges. You can see where I've been hammered. You can feel my pointy corners.

But it's not a mistake. It's just how I'm supposed to be.

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Paradise was already paved once. And they're trying to do doing it again.


Circa 1927 (Photo: Los Angeles Public Library Images)

At the intersection of Sunset and Crescent Heights, there once stood the 1913 estate formerly known as Hayvenhurst (named after real estate developer William H. Hay), later renamed the Garden of Alla for actress Alla Nazimova, and finally known as the Garden of Allah Hotel, the so-called "playground to the stars."


Photo: Julius Shulman, 1960 (© J. Paul Getty Trust. Getty Research Institute, Los Angeles (2004.R.10))

That is, until banker Bart Lytton bought the place, and demolished the Old Hollywood estate in 1959 to build the flagship branch of his Lytton Savings & Loan in its place.

Photo Essay: The Monastic Life at St. Andrew's Abbey

I didn't really know what I'd find at St. Andrew's Abbey, but I was intrigued by the idea of Benedictine monks—or, any monks, really—cloistered away in the middle of the desert, along the San Andreas Fault.



And besides, I kind of like the idea of God's children devoting themselves to a life of service, making and selling things like beer and preserves and fudge and pumpkin bread.



In the case of these Mojave monks, it's local raw honey, olive oil, ceramics, and, oddly, printer ink/toner. I opted for some wildflower honey.



When I arrived, I told the gift shop volunteer that it was my first time, and I asked what there was to see (besides, of course, the gift shop). "Oh, lots," she said. "And you are welcome here."



First, she sent me up to the chapel. I wasn't expecting much more than a humble place of worship...



...but when I walked in, to my surprise I encountered the stained glass work of Roger Darricarrere, a French sculpturist who pioneered the use of the dalle-de-verre technique here in the U.S.—especially Southern California.



That's the "glass slab" style of architectural glass that I first discovered in a church in La Cañada Flintridge...



...its rough-hewn appearance a result of the colored glass chunks being cleaved with a hammer rather than being cut precisely.



Since Darricarrere couldn't get the same kind of glass in Southern California as he could in France, he ended up making his own "chunk glass" by melting down bottles and adding oxide colors.



This style—a far more mid-century modern take on a medieval art form—feels simultaneously abstract and geologic...



...which I guess is appropriate for its proximity to the longest and scariest seismic fault in the state.



There's an almost molecular entropy to it, the original chemical bonds having been shattered...



...and the resulting pieces then having reassembled to show all the bubbles and swirls and cracks and imperfections.



It is a raw and unrefined variation on art glass...



...one befitting the desert itself...



...and the wayward souls who may wander in to admire it.



I'd also been pointed to the duck pond behind the chapel, which seems to me like a necessary element of any place that's considered a retreat. But when you're visiting St. Andrew's Abbey, you have to remember that there are monks that actually live here—as well as pray and make stuff.



This Roman Catholic monastery was actually founded in 1929—but in China, by an abbey in Bruges, Belgium. They were kicked out of China in 1952 by the Communist Regime, so in 1955 they relocated to Valyermo, where they would join the Archdiocese of LA as the first Benedictine monastery in California. And they would be facing out toward China.



And so they moved into the former Hidden Springs Ranch, where the monks converted a stable into their chapel and a dairy barn into their living quarters.



Into the hillside above the duck pond, they built a meandering installation of the Stations of the Cross...



...from Jesus' first fall all the way to his crucifixion...



...surrounded by a variety of joshua trees and yucca (including the appropriately-named "Lord's Candle" plant) rising from the dry desert up to the heavens.



As an aside, the woman from the gift shop had said to me, "Oh, and there's a little cemetery up the hill behind the ceramics studio, if you're the kind of person that likes graveyards."



"I am definitely that kind of person," I said.



This is where the abbey's founding fathers are buried...



...and where the monks living at the abbey today will be buried when their time comes.



They've made a lifetime commitment to St. Andrew's...



...which, I guess, is nothing compared to their commitment to God, which extends into the afterlife.



And then there are the Oblates—those living out in the secular world who have offered up their lives to God, making them part of the abbey's "extended family." Some of them get buried here, too.



There are people out there—some living hours away—who are so devoted to the Benedictine mission of prayer and work that they keep to the same prayer schedule as the monks, wherever they may be at the time.



It's a nice place to spend the ever after, surrounded by art, perched high above the desert.



The sky even seemed bluer up there.



But, since I'm still among the living, I could only stay up there a short while before I had to descend back down to my own personal reality—devoid of seclusion, austerity, and asceticism, but with plenty of contemplation.

Related Posts:
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